


Trivial Matters: Angry Russian Edition

by stanzas



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Supportive Yuri, yoisafebang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanzas/pseuds/stanzas
Summary: AKA: Yuri Plisetsky Has Regrets.So many regrets, in fact, an encyclopedia listing those regrets would take up several volumes. Most of those regrets deal with two giant lovesick fools who can’t seem to take a hint they’re stupidly, painfully in love with one another, and he’s had enough.It doesn’t particularly matter which one of those idiots started it, because he’s going to end it.





	Trivial Matters: Angry Russian Edition

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to Gremlin Hour aka the mess that is yurio's pov. lots of anger, a dash of morbid curiosity, and my own blatant frustration towards the entire fandom stereotype that yurio yells "gross" everytime yuuri and victor are within touching distance of one another. y'all are transparent as shit. quit it.  
> "what the fandom could do: Young gay men sees himself in an olde healthy couple that helps him a lot with realizing and coping as he struggles through the early stages of "im gay"  
> reality: The gremlin is gay BUT hates gay PDA AND is dating an adult" - [clark](http://lesbianmilababicheva.tumblr.com)
> 
> huge thanks to [victor](https://gaykatsukiyuuri.tumblr.com/) and [ari](https://heterophobeviktor.tumblr.com/) for being my willing and supportive betas, and the most helpful of comments, including a lot of key smashes. (okay i'm joking but there was a lot of keysmashing on both ends because that's how gays communicate, in inarticulate random letter combinations.)  
> my biggest thanks and screams of joy to [lewis](https://kissonice.tumblr.com/) and their [art](http://lew-drew.tumblr.com/). i was so overjoyed they chose my fic for yoisafebang this year and their art is adorable and so perfect, and they were an absolute joy to work with. please be sure to check out their art which is linked in the end notes, as well as embedded into the fic itself.
> 
> [[ **note:** as usual, hover for translations. for mobile users, translations are available in the end notes.]]

The rink is strangely quiet this morning, which can only mean one thing: Victor is skipping practice.

Again.

He’s usually moping and whining and filling the rink with general unpleasantness. His methods to making everyone else in his vicinity miserable include: blasting sappy lovesick opera music, showing everyone in his vicinity his newest Instagram post about his dog, or scaring the juniors with tales of bad skating accidents. The void he leaves behind in his absence is peaceful...but very unusual. Victor isn’t a world-renowned athlete for nothing. He’s always at the rink. He trains, day, night, runs through programs like he’s a machine. He churns out quads and combinations and stays later than anybody else at the rink.

Sometimes Yakov has to physically force him off the ice and send him home. Yakov says he’s an obsessive perfectionist. Georgi says he’s dedicated. Mila says he’s depressed.

Yuri thinks it might also be a poor combination of all of those fed through a meat grinder, and the result is Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s Greatest Ice Skating Hero.

Yuri isn’t sure what his excuse is this time. Last week it was bad fish from his order-in service (or so he claims). Yuri doesn’t really know why Victor even uses that shitty excuse, because his Instagram posts while walking his furry rat beast betray him. Really, sometimes Yuri wonders what’s in his head. If someone were to perform an x-ray, Yuri imagines Victor’s head is only filled with a tiny bottle of vodka and a radio blasting Top 40 Pop at full volume.

“If he didn’t obsess over posting his every thought and meal of the day, maybe he wouldn’t get caught playing hooky,” Yuri mutters. Mila hums beside him and ruffles his hair. Yuri bats her hand away. Yakov screams into his phone from across the rink, cursing Victor out over voicemail. Not that the moron even listens to his voicemail.

“What is it this time?” Mila asks, leaning over Yuri’s shoulder and peering down at his phone to read Yuri’s open conversation with Victor.

**[послал](/): **

>>> [ты идиот](/)

**[старик](/): **

> [что происходит](/) ?

**послал:**

>>> yakovs head is about to explode

>>> you better not be looking at those pictures again

>>> victor no

**старик:**

> Don’t worry about me yuratchka

> you should work on your step sequences if you want to make it to the finals ))))

**послал:**

>>> [Иди в жопу](/)

**старик:**

> ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Yuri pushes her off his back, and goes back to stretches. Mila is undeterred by this reaction. “Did he say anything to you yesterday?”

“What do you think?” Yuri tries not to sound too bitter about it. What does he care what Victor does? He does not care. At all.

“Maybe he’s found someone,” Mila suggests, twirling her hair. Yuri wonders if Yakov will yell at him if he kicks Mila in the shins. “Although, he’s so miserable at practice, maybe he didn’t. Did you say something to him?”

Yuri bristles. “It’s not my job to take care of that man-child,” Yuri reaches down to touch his toes, stretches, and reaches for his skates.

“Ah, right. You don’t care at _all_ , little Yuri,” Mila teases.

“[Баба](/),” Yuri spits at her. She has the nerve to laugh. Yuri is going to break into her room and put Nair in her shampoo. He did it to Georgi since that asshole kept stealing Yuri’s lunch, and there’s only one thing Yuri knows better than skating: revenge. Georgi cried for two whole days, and wore a wig the rest of the week. Yakov made him do 50 suicides as punishment, but in Yuri’s opinion, it was _worth it_.

“It’s okay, _Yuri_ ,” Mila rises and tosses a sly look at Yuri over her shoulder. “I love you, too.”

Yuri hisses at her. She laughs again, and catches the attention of the girls in juniors and waves at them. They wave back, hesitant, their faces filled with a special kind of joy -- almost awe-struck, surprised they were recognized.

“See,” Mila gestures to them. “They know to respect their elders.”

“What’s so great about being old?” Yuri says. “It means you’re closer to being dead.”

“ _Wiser_ ,” Mila presses. “ _Mature_. Capable of expressing emotions in a _healthy_ , rational outlet, instead of lashing out.” She pointedly nudges his leg with the toe of her boot. Yuri ignores her. She keeps talking, though, so Yuri makes a point of taking out his earbuds and shoves them in his ears. Mila gives up and goes to bother some other poor victim from Juniors.

Yuri’s phone buzzes against his leg. He swipes the screen to unlock it. If it’s Victor, he’s going to kill him.

It’s not Victor. It’s Mila, even though she’s in the same building as him.

Even though _he can see her across the rink._

**[Баба](/): **

> hey her hey hey hey eh yeh ey

> heYUYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYyyuuuuri

> answer your phone i know ur on it

> im going to tell yakov who filled georgie’s dryer with gumballs

> yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuriiiiiiiiiiiii

> have you seen this yet!!!!!!!!!?????????! http://youtu.be/D_lp…

If Mila sent him _15 Signs You Need Anger Management Therapy_ again, Yuri is going to break her kneecaps.

He ignores the text and opens his Twitter instead. He grimaces at the wall of notifications and messages. He closes out of Twitter. Whatever media forest fire is happening is of no interest to him. He looks back at the text. Mila sends another urgent plea, mostly capitals, and lots of exclamation points. He considers blocking her.

He clicks the video. It’s in Japanese, and, go-figure, _Yuri doesn’t read Japanese_. He waits. The video is quiet to begin with, sort of out of focus, like it’s being filmed in secret. He sees an ice rink. No music. A figure on the ice.

The figure turns. Yuri wants to throw his phone at the wall.

It’s Katsuki, the sixth-place loser from the Grand Prix. He’s out of shape, by the looks of it. Yet, Yuri watches the whole thing. Begrudgingly, he admits Katsuki isn’t a total fucking disaster, and closes out of the video.

**[послал](/): **

>>> yeah, and?? whats the big deal

**[Баба](/):**

> !!!!!!!!!!!

> do u think vityas seen it?

**послал:**

>>> idk y dont you ask him

>>> o right “)))))))

**Баба:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

> maybe thats y he skipped practice??????

**послал:**

> yea so he can watch it on replay for 400000 times and cry into his pillow because he's a big fucking lovesick moron

> and then scroll through all his photos of katsuki and cry some more

Mila bumps his shoulder, startling him. He takes out an earbud. “What?”

She looks pointedly down at his phone. “What’d you think?”

“If he skated like that in competition maybe he wouldn’t be a total loser.”

Mila punches his shoulder. He manages not to wince, but it hurts. It’s going to bruise tomorrow. “[Костлявый](/)!”

Yuri rubs his tender shoulder, tries not to give Mila the satisfaction of a placing a good hit. “I think he’s a loser, and I hope he never competes again.”

Mila looks at him. After a moment, she taps her finger against her chin, a familiar motion he’s associated with Victor. “Hmm. That’s not it.” He hates when she gets introspective. It usually leads to discussions about emotional turmoil and _the hormonal changes he’s going through are normal, but Yuri, do you have to be so mean all the time? What happened to cute, happy Yuri?_

“What’s not it?”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” Yakov screams Yuri’s name across the rink. “If Coach makes me do suicides because of you, they will never find your body. Later, hag.”

Mila continues, even as he walks away out of range. “I think you want to compete against him. You lost the dance-off, you have to regain your dignity, your pride was da --”

Yuri turns on his heel and pushes her into the wall, but Mila is made of solid steel. She does laugh at him, which adds insult to the injury.

He’s so putting dye in her showerhead. He hopes she doesn’t mind the color green.

On her _everywhere_.

* * *

He gets the text from Mila the next day. He’s halfway dressed, preparing to leave for practice, when his phone goes off. It’s a Britney Spears song, which means Mila hacked into his phone again, and for that she will _pay_. Vengeance will be swift and deadly, once he figures out how to properly punish her for this crime.

**[Баба](/):**

> have you talked to victor?

He sends her a shrug emoji. She responds with three serious frowny faces, and a palm tree emoji, followed by a few other random emojis.

Yuri blocks her number. Then he worries if something happens and he can’t get in contact with her, (which of course, he totally _doesn’t care_ if something bad _does_ happen) so he unblocks her number. Just in case.

At practice, Yakov is practically cataclysmic. His face is so red, Yuuri wonders if he’s going to make it to tomorrow. His blood pressure must be through the roof.

“What’s going on?” Yuri mutters, sits down next to Mila. Mila has a strange look on her face. She pushes her salad around in her bowl, clearly deep in thought. Yuri takes out his sandwich and scrunches his nose up at the soggy bread.

“Yakov said Victor left late last night,” Mila hums. “He said Victor made him drive to the airport, and took the next flight out of Moscow.”

Yuri clenches his fists, accidentally turning his sandwich into paste in his hands.

He’s changing tactics: he’s going to put Nair in _Victor’s_ shampoo next chance he gets.

* * *

It does not get better from there. Yuri loses Hot Springs on Ice, which is somehow more and less humiliating than losing the impromptu dance-off after the last Grand Prix Finals.

It’s even worse because of _Victor_. The last season he was a miserable little shit, and he wore that fake paparazzi smile 24/7 while his eyes looked like he’d rather go home and hang himself from the ceiling light in his living room.

Not that Yuri is concerned if he did, but it would put the Russian skating team in the spotlight in a bad way. He doesn’t want his senior debut to be spoiled by Russian headlines mourning the death of Russia’s greatest skating hero. He’d have to live in the shadow of tragedy hanging over his head for the rest of his career.

He absolutely does not care at all what happens to Victor. At all.

But in Japan…

Victor is happy.

Somehow, Victor is happy. Happy, smiling, with that lame Katsudon who can’t reliably land quads or score consistently. Despite this, Victor is all smiles. Not fake smiles. He’s always hovering around Katsudon, just out of reach, but close enough that it drives Yuri into a rage. He’s clingy. He talks to the Katsudon, asks him about everything, excited and over-eager, his face open and ready to listen to whatever he has to say. The Katsudon doesn’t ignore him, isn’t revolted by the -- _everything_. From personal experience, he knows Victor is exhausting. If the Katsudon was smart, he’d tuck tail and run for the mountains and hope Victor would get tired of tracking him down.

The Katsudon is, evidently, not that bright, along with being an abysmal skating failure. If Yuri cared at all ( _which he does not_ ) he would almost call it a tragedy.

Yuri doesn’t get it. The Katsudon doesn’t radiate rainbows and sunshine out his ass, but if you looked at Victor you’d think he did.

* * *

Mila starts morning practice by gingerly removing a tabloid from her bag and displaying it to the rink.

“ _Victor speaks out against romance rumors_ ,” Yakov reads aloud, as if the rest of them are bumbling buffoons incapable of reading.

“ _Victor swears he isn’t romantically involved with competitor-now-student Katsuki,_ ” Mila finishes. She looks directly at Yuri. “That’s an interesting development.”

Yuri stares at her. “Victor sent a group text at three in the morning with a love poem dedicated to Katsuki,” Yuri says. “That magazine is a load of soggy bullshit.”

Mila makes a dramatic show of tearing the magazine in half, and shredding it. One of the newer recruits, the same age as Yuri, asks “What’s the big deal?”

Andrei has a nice smile and a tragic triple axel, and of course Yuri wouldn’t know that because he doesn’t pay attention to anyone at the rink besides himself. “It’s a big deal because Victor is a lovesick moron and that interview is a hoax,” Yuri says. “Duh.”

“Oh,” Andrei says. “But why was it published?”

“Because Victor is a big name and it will sell,” Mila finishes, glaring at the now shredded paper. “Would it be too extreme to take this outside and burn it?”

“Yakov would make you do a hundred wall sits,” Yuri warns her. “But you’re not thinking big enough. Buy a stick of dynamite, tape the shredded paper to it, and chuck it into the sea.”

Mila points at him. “You’ve got some good ideas. You’re gonna go far, kid.”

Andrei looks at Mila, then Yuri, then back at Mila in rapid succession. “You’re weird,” he informs them, and walks away.

Yuri does not at all feel disappointed that he scared off the new recruit. There’s hardly anyone his age at the rink, but he knows unless Andrei learns to land a triple axel, it’s unlikely Yakov will be willing to keep him around. Andrei is quiet compared to the rest of the Russian Team. Unless he grows a spine, he’ll become a less emotional equivalent of Georgi: shadowed by the better, brighter competitors for his entire career.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be _too_ extreme to fly back to Japan, kick Victor in the spine, and force him to confess to Yuuri.” Yuri suggests, while tying his skates.

“No,” Mila says. “Absolutely not. Yakov would actually have an aneurysm.”

“I’m sick and tired of them,” Yuri huffs. “Why can’t either of them get over themselves and admit they’re stupidly in love with the other?”

“Love is hard, Yuri,” Mila explains. “Especially when you’re adults.”

“That’s stupid.” Yuri says.

“Yeah, well, your idea of confessing love to someone is to walk up to them and deck them in the face,” Mila says.

“I don’t love anyone,” Yuri says. “I am a strong-willed competitor. I will not be weakened by the whims of love.”

“Uh-huh,” Mila agrees, in a tone that says she’s not actually agreeing with him, but she’s pretending she is. She glances over at Andrei. “Right.”

While Mila finishes her stretches, Yuri wanders back over to the trashcan with the shredded tabloid. One of the larger strips with Victor’s face winks back at him.

Victor, being one of Russia’s most recognized celebrities, is always in the tabloids. If asked, most people would claim he dated half of Russia. None of it was true. Yuri used to feel so angry -- but a different kind of anger, something deeper, more suppressed -- when he saw the headlines. Victor never seemed bothered by them.

Yuri also knows he never spoke about his dates. Yuri wonders if he actually had any dates. Maybe it was all a conspiracy funded by the RSF to make Victor seem more appealing. Sell more merch. Sell more tickets.

“It’s all branding,” Victor used to say.

He wonders if maybe there’s more to that. He thinks of the pale grey suited woman that visited the rinks in the weeks following his win at the Junior Grand Prix. Yakov kicked her out and called her the Cold Devil. Yuri knows she was there for him. Her gaze never faltered as she watched him skate from the outer corner of the rink. _Scouting_ , Yakov grumbled. _They’re looking for the next new face for Russia’s advertising. They know Victor is on his way out, and they’re looking for a replacement._

An uncomfortable bubble rises in his stomach, a question he didn’t want to acknowledge, a formless thought that finally found a voice.

_Is that going to be me?_

* * *

Yuuko texts him a picture of Yuuri and Victor flirting by the rink. Yuri is awake at a wretched hour of the morning, because his alarm woke him up too early and he can’t fall back asleep.

 _Things in Japan are as you left,_ she says. _How is Russia?_

 _You mean Victor’s still dancing circles around Katsudon?_ Yuri replies.

She sends another picture of Yuuri leaning over Victor, a determined expression on his face in sharp contrast to Victor’s awe-struck one.

 _Eros mode!!!_ Yuuko says, as explanation.

 _Tell him to get over himself and cut the shit_ , Yuri responds. He rolls over in his bed. His eyes hurt, and he has a faint headache. Yakov is going to be pissed when he stumbles into the rink, but that’s a worry for later.

 _I know it’s so frustrating!! I could just hit some courage into Yuuri,_ Yuuko replies, several minutes later.

 _I was talking about Victor_ , Yuri says. _But Yuuri too._

 _Do they not realize????_ Yuuko asks.

 _Victor does,_ Yuri considers sending her some of his secret stash of last year’s Grand Prix Finest Moments, but it’s a secret stash and nobody is allowed to know he has it. _I think they’re both just stupid._

 _I think they’ll figure it out,_ Yuuko says. The next text derails the conversation, with a _What time is it there for you???_ followed by a bunch of angry emoticons. _Yurio you’re supposed to be asleep!!_

 _Don’t call me that,_ Yuri tells her. He taps the lock button and stares at the black screen.

His phone buzzes. He opens it and expects another text from Yuuko, scolding him on his poor sleeping habits. Instead, it’s Yuuri.

_Yuuko says you should be sleeping instead of texting. Take care of yourself, otherwise I won’t be able to face you at your best in Russia._

Yuri smirks and replies back; _You mean when I BEAT you in Russia_.

Yuuri doesn’t immediately respond, and Yuri has read receipts on so he knows Yuuri saw the text. Victor probably told him to go back to practice. He snorts at the thought.

Yuri looks at the clock on his phone, then his physical alarm block by his bed, and sighs. He abandons the comfort of his bed and dresses for practice.

Yuuri responds around lunchtime, which would mean some time passed after the end of his practice.

**porkcutlet:**

>>> seriously, take care of yourself

Yuri frowns as he reads it, but takes the time to reply with “okay” because who knows if Katsudon is having one of his Bad Days.

* * *

Yuri misses most of the Cup of China livestream, or at least he misses the second-half. Arguably, the most important part.

The figure skating world collectively loses its shit.

Yuri retweets only one article talking about the historic significance of Yuuri and Victor’s flying leap into fame, and only because it will psych Yuuri out into thinking he’s being supportive.

“ _Thank you for the support,_ ” Yuuri texts him thirty minutes later, as expected.

Yuri texts back: _glad you both pulled your heads out of your asses. Also if you mess this up I’ll break your face._

Yuuri, who is clearly an idiot, texts back: “ _You mean the Rostelecom Cup?_ ”

 _No, you moron_ , Yuri types out. _I mean you and Victor, idiot._

Yuri does not send that message, but only because Mila sends him a text at the same time telling him he should be supportive and that their plan to get Yuuri and Victor together finally worked.

**[послал](/): **

>>> we didn’t do anything though

**mila:**

> yeah, and by not interfering, it allowed them to reach out and meet each other and find love instead of being forced upon them.

> i’m so happy for them, aren’t you?

Yuri frowns. He re-opens his message to Yuuri and types out: “ _No, i mean you and victor, but also i’m going to beat you in russia and you’ll be so ashamed to ever show your face in my country again_.”

The message clearly isn’t antagonizing enough, because the response is very infuriating. The response is also very clearly not from Yuuri.

**porkcutlet:**

> oh, thank you yurio!!!! We love you too and thank you for all your support!!! )))

**послал:**

>>> give yuuri back his phone

 **porkcutlet:** > I don’t know what you could possibly mean??? This is Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s ace, obviously not victor nikiforov some russian skater

**послал:**

>>> tell yuuri i’ll see him in russia you losers

* * *

Mila is frowning at her phone during lunch, which is not usual for her. She’s usually texting her friend and smiling into her hands.

“What’s up?” Yuri asks her in Russian. One of the exchange staters from Yakov’s training programs is at the table, and Yuri prefers not to acknowledge them. It’s easier to pretend he doesn’t speak English.

“Those fucking cowardly shit fuckdiggers,” Mila swears, in what is definitely not Russian. Yuri glances at the poor six year old English kid she scarred, but the kid either wasn’t listening or doesn’t give a shit.

“That in no way answered my question,” Yuri informs her. “In fact, now I have more questions.”

“Did you see this?” Mila holds out her phone. Yuri skims over the headline. It’s something about Victor coaching Yuuri to scout out competition and betray Yuuri or some garbage. Victor’s too infatuated, so it’s a load of steaming bullshit.

“So?” Yuri shrugs and returns his attention to his pea soup. The microwave at the rink is out of order, which means his soup tastes even more shitty than usual. “They’ve said worse. That’s all speculation.”

“No, the,” Mila turns the phone back to scroll down. “The comments section is a literally a minefield of assholes.” She must have found the comment she’s looking for, because she shoves the phone back in Yuri’s face.

**Anonymous**

> LOL!!!!!!!!! Can’t wait for nikiforov & katsuki and the other homos like them to finally be banned from skating and all the other sports, they’re ruining sports for everyone

 **Anonymous** >>> Cheers to that, mate

Yuri blinks. Mila’s knuckles are white, her phone so tightly held in her fists, and Yuri wonders if that will be enough to break it.

“I hope they don’t see,” Mila says, in a low voice. “And whoever this is, I’m going to kill them.”

“That’s a little extreme,” Yuri says, ignoring the tight ring of frustration that grows in his stomach.

“People are just assholes,” Andrei offers, from beside Georgi. “Sometimes there’s nothing to be done about that.”

“You may be right,” Mila says. Yuri watches Andrei stand and head to the locker rooms to change. Mila stares at him, long enough for Yuri to lose his nerve.

“What?” Yuri demands. “Is there something on my face?”

“You have a crush,” Mila sing-songs.

“I do not,” Yuri stands and slams his lunch tray on the table. “And if I did, it would not be for Awful Axel Andrei.”

“Maybe you should give him some skating tips,” Mila offers with a sly smile. Yuri knows her game, and he does not like it. He will not play her game.

“I’m going to fill your skates with shaving cream,” Yuri threatens, and she should know that is not an empty threat. “And I’m going to tell Yakov who filled his office with photos from Plushenko’s _Sex Bomb_.”

Mila throws up her hands up in a surrendering gesture. Yuri stomps towards the locker room to change for practice. He quite literally runs into Andrei, who apologizes profusely.

“Your triple axel sucks,” Yuri informs him, instead of apologizing like a normal human person.

Andrei blinks at him, and adopts the kicked puppy expression that Yuri associates with Katsuki.

Ugh.

“You should watch Katsuki’s axel and take some tips from him,” Yuri adds, awkwardly. He’ll never be able to show his face again at the rink. This encounter blows every other awkward encounter in his experience out of the water.

“Uh,” Andrei says. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Yuri spits in a stilted, choppy response, and spins on his heel and marches out of the locker room.

How does words good? ...

Yuri looks down. He’s holding his bag from practice. He forgot to change.

Fuck.

* * *

Of course, nothing can stop Yuri from seeing more of it on Twitter. He wonders how he never noticed before; or if he did, he ignored it. He wonders if Victor sees tweets like that all the time.

“Stop fighting imaginary wars on Twitter,” Mila scolds him, after Yuri picks up his phone to type out and blast an angry reply to some irrelevant troll.

“How else am I supposed to teach them they’re wrong if I don’t say ANYTHING,” Yuri ignores her, furiously swiping his fingers across the keyboard to complete his response.

**Yuri Plisetsky @yuri_plisetsky**

**5m ago**

> Can you all quit asking me questions about victor & yuuri? You seem to think I have their phone #s or that I follow their personal lives I just don’t care

>> **Reply from @beatsbury**

>>> you literally liked victors ig status from yesterday about taking yuurik on a date but sure okay lmaooooo

>>>> **Reply to @beatsbury**

>>>>> my finger slipped

>> **Reply from @hjohn_y**

>>> Lmao they’re dating? But they’re both dudes

>>> **Reply to @hjohn_y**

>>>> yeah both dudes glad someone’s paying attention

>>>>> **Reply from @hjohn_y**

>>>>>> Dudes can’t date other dudes that’s wrong lol

Yuri blinks at the response, his fingers already tapping out his own reply. His stomach twists uncomfortably -- probably something in his lunch. Maybe the meat was bad.

>>>>>>> **Reply to @hjohn_y**

>>>>>>>> Wow I guess I skipped that section in the Dudes Handbook Try some other thread, dickshit

>>>>>>>>> **Reply from @hjohn_y**

>>>>>>>>>>>> Ohh they’re one of those gays well i guess that makes sense >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Well it doesn’t matter katsuki won’t make it to the finals and victor’s wasting his time lmao did anyone know he was a gay before this or mb I wasn’t paying attention?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> But this explains a lot, I always knew something wasn’t right about Victor lmao

Yuri’s hands shake as he types out the next reply.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> **Reply to @hjohn_y**

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Wow your blatant bigotry and homophobia is showing you might want to get that checked out

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> **Reply from @hjohn_y**

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Maybe you need to get checked out you might be like them

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> it’s gross lmao and wrong

Yuri sees red. Mila catches his arm before he chucks his phone into the center of the rink. She hesitantly pats Yuri’s back, and he doesn’t immediately try to shove her off, but only because he’s so angry he could probably physically tear someone’s head off.

“Don’t worry about the trash on there,” she says. “If you obsess about what people say on there, you’ll go crazy.”

“I,” Yuri says. Words try and fail to leave his throat where they’re trapped. The deep churning pit grows larger. He feels dizzy and nauseous all at the same time. He doesn’t know what face he’s making, but Mila lowers her head to speak in a low tone.

“Some people are not worth your time, Yura,” she says.

Later, Yuri sees Victor post a screenshot of the conversation on his own Twitter. There’s a few additional screenshots of the same account defending themselves in the onslaught of Victor fans who furiously defended their idol and took to Yuri’s side. The caption has no words, only the tea emoji, two knives, and the nail painting one. Yuuri subtweets it with his own caption, reading “ _Thanks for the support from Russia!_ ” and something in Japanese. Yuuri texts him later with a short “ _Thanks_ ” and Yuri stares at the message for a while before responding.

* * *

Yuri wins the Grand Prix Final.

... _by .12 points._

Yuuri is moving to Russia, and Yuri trains harder than ever. If Yuuri can score within .12 points of Yuri’s own score, then Yuri has to be sure he can win by an even larger margin. There can be no mistakes.

If Yuri trains hard, then Victor trains like a maniac. For the first public practice he hosts (sans Yuuri, which is incredibly rare), almost everyone at the rink shows up even though it’s not their practice time. Yuuri and Victor made a deal that Yuuri wouldn’t watch Victor’s FS until competition, because it’s a _surprise_.

“Romantic fools,” Yuri told them. Yuuri kissed Victor’s cheek and Yuri considered yelling “Gross,” before remembering the assholes on his Twitter feed and opted for (gently) throwing a pillow at Victor’s head instead.

“Victor Nikiforov is a prick,” Yuri shouts over the crowd. Mila kicks him. “Victor Nikiforov is a little prick,” Yuri amends. Mila kicks him, again, harder.

“Go Victor,” Yuri yells, lacking all the enthusiasm from earlier.

“Have you seen any of his FS yet?” Mila asks, swiftly changing topics. “He’s been so secretive. I bet it’s romantic and sappy, and that’s why. Oh, I wonder if the ending pose is on one knee? Secret romantic proposal skate? It’s gonna be so good.”

“You know what would be better?” Yuri asks. “If he, instead, did an American rock song. Like the cherry pie one.”

Mila shakes her head. Yuri mimes rocking out to a guitar. Mila sighs, and threatens to take out her phone and record a video of his air guitar skills. Yuri drops the guitar act immediately. The lights in the stands flicker and turn off, leaving only the rink lit by a spotlight. Victor stands in the center, one arm raised, eyes facing the floor. A single piano note rings out, followed by a descending chord, and then Victor spins.

The music choice is familiar, but not a replica of _Yuri On Ice_ either. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s...lacking pizazz. There’s nothing surprising about the melody at all, actually. If the music had a voice, it would be saying; _Hello again. We’ve never met, but I know you, and you know me_.

“This isn’t Victor,” Yuri comments. The jumps are all back loaded in the second half of the program, an obvious attempt to show who Victor is _really_ competing against.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Mila says, as Victor launches and lands his quad flip. “But then again, this isn’t the Victor we knew from last year either. He’s different. His skating is going to reflect that. The music is different from anything he’s ever done, too. He used Yuuri’s composer from last season so their free skates would sound similar. It’s different, it’s _him_ , but it’s not the same.”

“Yeah.” Georgi agrees. “Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he changes it all for competition. We’re seeing the two-weeks-before-Russian-Nationals-rush. After Russian Nationals are over, he’ll probably change most of the program. That sounds more like Victor.”

Victor ends with both hands over his heart, which is overkill, in Yuri’s opinion.

“He knows you love him,” Yuri tells Victor, after he’s changed into regular clothes and off the ice. “ _We all know_ you love him. Chill.”

“You aren’t in love,” Victor tells him, settling his gaze onto the wall behind Yuri. A lovesick glaze coats over his eyes. “You’re young, and your heart isn’t bridled by the fiery claims of deep, undying love and --”

Yuri cuts him off with a very loud, very exaggerated snore. Victor shakes himself out of his daze and ruffles Yuri’s hair. Yuri squawks in protest, filled with righteous indignation.

That night, Victor invites Yuri over for dinner. “You had me at free food,” Yuri says. “As long as neither of you cook.”

Victor pretends to think about this. “Then where are we getting the food?”

“I’ll cook,” Yuri says. “We’re not repeating the Bread Incident.”

“To be fair, we can both cook fine, prompted we aren’t distracted,” Victor amends. “But sure, you can cook tonight.”

“It’s only because you’re both abysmal at keeping your hands off each other,” Yuri says. “And you tried performing your pair skate in the kitchen, and knocked over the bread mixer.”

“You may have a point.” Victor says. “What’s for dinner then, Master Chef?”

“Takeout place down the street,” Yuri shrugs. “Because as bad as you both are at cooking, I’m too lazy to make you food.”

Victor accepts this compromise. Yuri orders the food. Victor pays. Nothing is burned, and the kitchen does not look like a flour and dough warzone.

“My birthday is coming up soon,” Victor remarks, as if only then reminded of this important event. “I almost forgot. I’ll have to prepare something romantic for Yuuri and me.”

“Do what you did last year,” Yuri suggest. “Sleep in your apartment and watch reruns of your favorite programs. I know Yuuri would love that.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “It’s good Yuuri didn’t know me before all of this. I was very sad, and boring. I never spoke to any of the skaters at competitions.”

Yuri expects a “but” coming soon.

“Yuuri changed my life in so many ways,” Victor remarks. His expression is very strange. For a moment, Yuri remembers the sad, emotionless Victor from last year. The Victor that spent every moment at practice, and if not at practice, at his apartment with his dog. The Victor that didn’t seem to care about himself, or anyone around him.

This Victor is different. Yuri realizes, somehow, despite all his efforts, he looks up to Victor as a competitor...and a friend. ( _Sometimes_.) Yuuri is happy when Victor is happy. It also means Yuuri competes at his best when he’s happy. Victor, despite the somewhat lackluster FS program today, will probably rise above his old records and compete even better with Yuuri in his life and supporting him in all the ways Yakov and the Russian skaters at the rink could not.

Yuri’s mind spends several minutes reorienting itself. Victor lapses into quiet meditation, perhaps reflecting on Yuuri’s influence in his life as well.

Victor looks down at the bag of takeout in his arms and breaks the silence. “Speaking of, where is he?”

Yuuri is asleep in Victor’s apartment, as it turns out. He jumps awake when Yuri pokes him in the back. “Sorry, I got tired of waiting up for you guys,” Yuuri rubs his eyes with his hands and stretches on the couch. “Makkachin kept me company.”

“I come bearing food and gifts,” Victor announces. “From the local takeout place down the street.”

Yuuri hums. “Ah, sounds good.” Despite Yuri’s obvious presence in the room, Victor leans over and gives Yuuri a long, very drawn out kiss. Yuri, despite wishing to, does not roll his eyes. He does not throw a pillow, but only because it looks intimate and he doesn’t want to get any more involved than he already is. Victor whispers something into Yuuri’s ear, who smiles. Victor returns the smile, both of their expressions filled with obvious love and adoration. Yuri clears his throat and flees to the kitchen to find plates and set the table.

Victor finishes his food first and then passes out at the table, face down, and barely misses his plate. “He’s been working so hard,” Yuuri explains, like Yuri’s an idiot. Like Yuri isn’t at the rink and knows Victor’s been working from sunrise to sunset preparing for Nationals. Yuri doesn’t say this, and stabs the pork on his plate.

“How was his program today?” Yuuri asks, not tearing his eyes off Victor. “He’s had so little time to prepare, but I know whatever he does will be spectacular.”

“It was…” Yuri starts. Strange. No surprises. Nothing like any of Victor’s other programs. “Different.”

Yuri clears the table while Yuuri coaxes Victor into an actual bed. When Yuuri returns, Yuri is on the couch watching television. Yuri is in a good mood so he lets Yuuri put on subtitles and listen to the local news station to help with his Russian.

“Victor’s birthday is coming up,” Yuuri says. “I still haven’t picked out something for Victor.”

“He doesn’t want anything,” Yuri grumbles. “He does this every year. Presents aren’t a big deal for him. He liked to prank people at the rink. One year he dyed Yakov’s hair blue. Sometimes he bought flowers for the juniors. He liked giving gifts to other people too.”

Yuuri sits up. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Probably daddy issues.” Yuri feigns disinterest. He straightens on the couch and tries to hide his glee. “He mentioned something about paying somebody to deliver a truck of roses to his apartment, and renting out the rink for the day so you and him could have some romantic practice. Then he’d use his private helicopter and take you on a tour of the Russian countryside by air. Followed by a romantic evening on a remote lake, which is part of the estate he inherited from his great-great aunt.”

Yuuri frowns, as if seriously considering this.

“Okay, I was kidding about the roses,” Yuri fails to hide his smirk. “And the helicopter. But it sounds like something he’d do, right?”

“You had me going for a second.” Yuuri replies coolly, but he’s smiling. He turns his head and looks at the hallway, towards the direction of Victor’s room. “You're right. That is absolutely something he would do.”

* * *

Victor comes in second at Russian Nationals. Georgi places above Victor on the podium for the first time at Nationals since their Junior years. Georgi cries on the podium, which is to be expected. Victor looks happier winning a silver medal than he ever did winning a gold one. Not that Yuri notices or cares.

Yuri sent a text message with a screenshot of a nice spa retreat to Victor, who immediately jumped on the idea and took Yuuri with him. It’s not like Yuri purposefully screenshotted the page featuring the “ _Romantic Couple’s Spa Retreat & Classical Movie And Dinner Theme Night_.” It so happened to be the page he found first. Not the third or fourth page after thoroughly scanning the website and looking up reviews. All of this is completely incidental.

Yuri texts Victor while on their vacation, _If you tell anybody about this I’m going to shave an image of my face into your dog’s fur_ , and Victor responds with a selfie covering his lips with his finger to indicate his solemn silence.

* * *

A typical Russian Team Practice over the next few weeks is summarized over several variations of the following conversation, each beginning as such;

“Where’s Yuri?” Mila asks.

“Which one?” Georgie responds with, which is a fair question.

“I’m right here,” Yuri snarls.

“Other Yuuri,” Mila clarifies. Victor, who must have the ears of a bat, swoops into the conversation like an annoying lump.

“Oh, Yuuri? _My_ Yuuri? Yuuri Katsuki? My wonderful husband-to-be? _That_ Yuuri Katsuki? Katsuki Yuuri? Yuuri --”

“I’m going to take off my skates,” Yuri threatens. He takes a deep breath to finish the rest of the sentence. “And then I am going to shove them so far up your ass, they’ll call you Ass Skater for the rest of your miserable life.”

The threat varies on the day, and usually ends with Yakov screaming at them for wasting time and not practicing. Yuuri and Victor split apart and resume practice, or, on one memorable occasion, Victor looks directly at Yakov and says “I’m practicing with my student, at this very moment,” and pulls him in for an overly dramatic sloppy kiss.

Yakov’s resulting frustrated scream can be heard from Poland. Yuri records it, only because it’s too hilarious not to save forever.

* * *

In between preparing for competitions, Victor gets it in his head he needs to provide another romantic gesture to him and Yuuri. “I should propose,” Victor says. “Candlelight dinner. Hire a violinist. Rose petals. Very romantic.”

“I thought he already proposed,” Yuri observes.

“Sh, shush,” Victor says. He’s pacing in the locker room, peering out the door to make sure Yuuri isn’t anywhere near them. He spins around and, very seriously, says “I need him to know I love him and declare my love for him again.”

Yuri sighs. “You do that almost every day.”

“I was thinking about making a cake,” Victor interrupts, clearly ignoring Yuri’s statement. Yuri perks up. He knows where this ends: Victor burns down his apartment and, more importantly, the cake will be ruined.

“You can’t bake,” Yuri reminds him.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Victor says.

“You own _literally no baking supplies,_ ” Yuri stresses. “Your kitchen is a _desert_. Filled with _tragedy_. The milk in your fridge expired _a week ago_.”

“I want to make something special for Yuuri,” Victor pouts, looking incredibly put out. “I know--”

“Shut up,” Yuri grumbles, and shoves his skate bag into Victor’s arms. “We’re going shopping. You don’t even have flour.” Victor skips all the way to the grocery store. Yuri hates grocery stores. There’s too many whining, screaming children, and Victor told him it’s illegal to scream at little kids to shut up.

“It’s not illegal,” Yuri grumbles.

“They’re screaming because they don’t understand,” Victor responds, while hovering over the icing. He taps his chin. “Screaming at them more won’t solve the problem. Do you think Yuuri likes strawberry or vanilla?”

Yuri’s phone buzzes, with an incoming text from Otabek. _How goes practice?_ He asks. Yuri responds with a picture of himself frowning next to the sprinkles with Victor in the background. Otabek responds with _LOL have fun_ because he’s a bad friend, and Yuri does not reply after that because his attention returns to the issue at hand. He slaps Victor’s hand away from the strawberry icing, and picks up the chocolate icing off the shelf. “Let me worry about the ingredients, old man.”

“I have to pay for all of it though,” Victor says. “I don’t get any say in this?”

“Absolutely not,” Yuri says. “I’m baking the cake, and you’re going to sit with Makkachin and not ruin it. Understand?”

“That’s not fair,” Victor whines. “But I demand strawberries.”

Yuri picks out two cases of strawberries, only because that’s part of his grand cake vision. Victor quits moping when they get to the cake mix aisle.

“You said we were baking it ourselves,” Victor points out.

“I said no such thing.” Yuri replies. “And you’re the one who said it’s the thought that counts?”

Victor frowns. Yuri sighs, and turns the box over in his hands. He stares at the list of ingredients, most of which include chemicals he cannot pronounce. “Fine. You’re right. Only because the ones here taste like dirt and cement.”

“That’s a very specific flavor,” Victor says. “May I ask why _that_ specific combination?”

“No.” Yuri punctuates this statement by slamming the cake mix back on the shelf. “You may not.”

The grocery store adventure results in a total over a hundred dollars. Victor doesn’t blink when he hands over his credit card. “Like you said, my kitchen is a desert,” Victor gestures to the large bags of food. “You were right. I need to stop living off oatmeal and protein shakes. For myself, and for Yuuri.”

“Good,” Yuri says. “I guess?”

Victor nods seriously. The cashier glances at the two of them, and does a double take. “Excuse me,” she asks, “Are you Victor Nikiforov?”

“And that’s my cue,” Victor mutters, low enough only Yuri can hear. “Oh, yes, that’s me! Lovely meeting you, me and Yuri have an important event to attend to, have a good evening!”

Victor grabs half the bags and makes a mad dash for the exit. Yuri looks at the cashier, who stares back, evidently very confused.

“He’s trying to do something to surprise his fiancé,” Yuri explains. “Sorry. He’s usually a lot nicer to fans.”

The cashier narrows her eyes, and blinks. “Oh, are you Yuri Plisetsky?”

“Uh,” Yuri glances at the door. Victor is frantically gesturing for him to leave. “I’ve got to run. I think we’re on a tight schedule. _Thankyoubye_ ,” Yuri rushes out the door after Victor, eggs secured in his arms to prevent any mishaps.

(Victor nearly dropped the carton of eggs in the dairy aisle. He is not allowed to touch the eggs.)

They race back to Victor’s apartment, nearly smash into several innocent pedestrians, and there is a near fatal collision with Makkachin when Victor opens the door to his apartment.

All accidents aside, the grocery trip is a success. Yuri immediately looks up a chocolate cake recipe on his phone and orders Victor to find all the baking utensils, as well as a pan, and a pot for heating the chocolate.

“What time does Yuuri get home from practice?” Yuri asks.

“He texted and said he’d be done in about an hour,” Victor says. “I asked him to pick up milk on the way home, which should delay him a little longer.”

Yuri stares at him. “We just bought a gallon of milk,” he says. “You’re going to have two gallons of milk in your fridge. The last one expired because you barely touched it.”

Victor scratches the back of his head. “Maybe they’ll let me return it?”

Yuri rolls his eyes, and returns to mixing the flour and cocoa powder.

Victor, by sheer luck, _obviously_ , actually isn’t a terrible baker. He cracks the eggs without getting shells into the bowl, and it isn’t a total disaster like Yuri expected.

They whisk the eggs and the cake mix, then throw it in the oven to bake. While it’s baking, Yuri heats the chocolate he bought and prepares to dip the strawberries.

“We’re running out of time,” Victor says. “Yuri texted me a picture of a dog he saw on his walk home. He’s only a few blocks away.”

“Okay, you ice the cake then,” Yuri furiously dips the strawberries with the speed and efficiency of a madman. Victor ices the cake, which comes out a little sloppy and uneven, but hopefully it tastes good enough it won’t matter. Yuuri isn’t a cake expert, he won’t care at all. _Probably_ won’t care at all.

Yuri strategically places the chocolate covered strawberries in a circle to decorate the cake. The leftover icing is used to help keep them in place.

“Yuuri says he’s outside,” Victor says. “We’ve got a minute, two tops.”

“The cake’s done, make sure you cut it like I showed you.” He hands the cutting knife to Victor. “Also, if you ruin this cake, I will sue you.”

“You can’t sue me over cake,” Victor says. Yuri shoots him a glare.

Victor nods his head. “Understood.”

Yuri scrambles to grab his coat off the chair and his bag at the door. He hears Yuuri’s footsteps echo down the hallway. He’s at the top of the stairs.

He glances at Victor. Makkachin wags her tail, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Hey,” Victor says, as Yuri’s halfway climbed out the window. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“No problem,” Yuri says, and slams the window shut. He climbs down the fire escape and out the building.

Climbing out the window was definitely unnecessary, since he most likely could’ve snuck out the door and missed Yuuri at the corner, but the window is _way_ more badass.

* * *

At practice the next morning, Yuuri and Victor are all smiles. “Victor made me a wonderful treat last night,” Yuuri tells Mila, when asked why. “With all the practice for Worlds I haven’t had a real dessert in a long time.”

“Ooh, Victor, what’d you make?” Mila jumps on the topic immediately, since she’s weird and wants to know every detail of their love life.

“Chocolate cake with strawberries,” Victor preens.

“Victor told me it’s all thanks to Yuri,” Yuuri smiles, and Yuri’s head perks up in his seat.

“I did not,” Yuri sputters. “I don’t like cake.”

“Yuri picked out the recipe,” Victor adds, leaning into Yuuri’s side. He rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “He helped pick out the strawberries too. And he baked most of it!”

“I did not,” Yuri repeats.

“Aw, that’s so sweet, Yurio,” Mila gasps dramatically. “You really do care! All this moaning about how you hate romance was a clever distraction to your true intentions. You’re such a sap!”

“Me? A what?” Yuri asks. “I am not. And I did not, _ever_ , in my life say anything about that.”

“ _Victor and Yuuri are stupid idiots in love, tell them to make out and shut up_ ,” Georgi reads off his phone.

“That was a private conversation,” Yuri seethes, struck at this sudden betrayal. Georgi is usually the neutral force in these conversations. He’s going to put plastic wrap on all of the toilets in Georgi’s apartments as retribution.

Victor sighs. “Yuri, I know you’re a teenager, and it’s much cooler to pretend you’re mean and don’t care, but you do care. An awful lot, actually.”

“Yeah, they’re basically your gay life role models,” Mila says.

“They are my what now.” Yuri asks, with absolutely no inflection. This conversation is spiraling out of control.

“And they can help you with your crush on Andrei!” Mila suggests.

“Oh, Axel Andrei?” Victor asks. “Isn’t he the --”

“Shut your mouth, all of you _shut up_ ,” Yuri interrupts, raising his voice over the rest of the conversation. “I do not have a crush, on anyone, on anything, _ever_ , in my life.”

Yuuri pats his knee. “No matter what, Yuri, we’re here for you. Thank you for making the cake, it was delicious.”

“I didn’t make it,” Yuri protests. “I wasn’t. I didn’t make it. I didn’t?”

“You left your headphones on the counter,” Yuuri explains. “And Victor told me.”

“I can’t take credit for it,” Victor kisses Yuuri’s cheek and stands. “It would be unsportsmanlike to take credit for such a wonderful cake.”

“No,” Yuri says, dazed at this unbelievable second betrayal.

Yuuri smiles disarmingly, as if he doesn’t realize he’s ruined Yuri’s life, and his entire reputation he spent years crafting. “It truly was a magnificent cake. Very delicious. I saved some if you wanted to try it.”

“No,” Yuri repeats, starting to sound like one of his Grandfather’s broken record players. “ _You?_ It was? I didn’t? It was -- you? You did it? I didn’t?” He points accusingly at Victor. “ _You!_ ”

“I think you broke him,” Victor stage-whispers to Yuuri. They walk off, hand in hand. Yuri’s brain is short circuiting. Mila pats his shoulder to comfort him. Yuri is too stunned to slap her hand away. He feels like he should scream, but he isn’t sure what to scream about, and who to scream at. He feels incredibly confused, and incredibly, furiously, displeased with this turn of events. Is this what an out of body experience feels like?

Yuri spends all of the following practice without speaking a word, doing crossovers and ignoring everybody.

As Yuri is packing his bag to leave and head home, his head still spinning from the day’s events, Victor calls his name and on instinct Yuri snaps his head up in the direction of his voice.

“Oh, and I told Andrei you’re free Thursday night, if you wanted to go to the movies,” Victor yells to him, as he and Yuuri are almost out the door. Yuri’s brain comes back online at this alarming news.

“I bought tickets already,” Yuuri yells, his back turned, obviously to avoid Yuri’s severe death glare. “And we’re coming too, we’re going to be chaperones!”

Yuri is going to _kill them_.

**Author's Note:**

> [[translations: From Russian  
> послал - sent  
> ты идиот - you're an idiot / idiot  
> старик - old man  
> что происходит ? - what's up / what's happening  
> Иди в жопу - kiss my ass  
> Баба - baba / hag / old hag  
>  ~~i forgot one woops~~ Костлявый - scrawny little shit]]
> 
> thanks for sticking around until the end! for the cheap price of leaving a comment saying "i liked this" you give me the motivation and saltiness to keep battling bad fandom tropes and stereotypes.  
> once again, the beautiful art is courtesy of [lewis](http://lew-drew.tumblr.com/), and their tumblr is linked in their name if you want to check out more of their art. hope to see you all again, whether it be for the next safebang or whenever my next inspiration strikes. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [@brotayuri](http://brotayuri.tumblr.com).
> 
> and hey...thanks.
> 
>  **edit on january 24th 2018** finally got around to responding to comments lollll sorry its been a while


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